A Bow-Shot From Her Bower-Eaves
The Hawk and Dove Tavern and Inn - Main Room ---- ::A relatively new establishment, the atmosphere of the Hawk and Dove is one of joviality and quaint ambience that is often crowded, smoke-filled and noisy with the banter of voices circulating within the room. It is here that locals come to drink, converse, game and generally relax and amusement themselves without the worries of their often hard and dreary life. . Like any good tavern, one can find refreshment or ease at the long expanse of the finely polished bar or perhaps at one of the many tables that await a friendly visitor. Looming large within the far wall rests a fireplace where the average man could stand clear within. The furniture is clean, comfortable that has been made of highly polished wood with the chairs having upholstered seats. '' ::''All of the furniture looks brand new, or nearly new, though some already show signs of a few nics and scraps from fights or clumsy customers. The wooden floorboards are regularly swept clean and are polished to perfection. At the far end of the room is a long bar with a large menu hanging upon the wall over head. Off to the left side of the bar is a door leading to the tavern kitchen where succulent aromas waft through the doors into the main room. A pattern of roses intricately carved upon the rails of a wooden staircase leads guests up to the rooms on the second floor where exhausted travelers can rest and relax. The walls have been white washed which adds contrast to the darkly stained timber crossbeams over head. ---- Vhramis sits at a table with Celeste, the pair drinking. The freelander beer, and the noblewoman wine. "I'm not a criminal. But there's a fine line that's been walked," he freely admits with a small grimace. "I'm not always proud of it. But it's what has to be done. Which is why the less I'm noticed, the better, usually. Don't take me wrongly..I don't go murdering good men." "I see," replies Celeste, sedately. The smile to her lips flickering away for an instant. "One could say there are many who walk that fine line. What is noble to one may be a trespass to another....but you are respected, Vhramis. That does not come lightly, especially in Crown's Refuge." A lanky cloaked scarecrow-figure of a man steps into the tavern, possibly hunchbacked from the lump under the dark green cloth; certainly round-shouldered with exhaustion. The hood turns to regard the tavern before it's pulled back by a lightly bandaged hand to reveal the face of the wandering bard, Taran. His unbandaged hand absently massages his shoulder as he approaches the pair. "...Light's greetings," he offers tiredly. "I never know for sure if the next step I take is going to be the wrong one," he admits with a small nod at that. "I never know if I'm going to simply compound matters, or help to make them better." He takes a draw of beer, glancing up sharply as Taran arrives at the table, relaxing someone when recognizing him. He nods his head. Celeste intent upon the words of her companion, starts at the appearance of the bard. Her eyes dropping to the bandaged hand, "Taran," remarks. The missed title going unnoticed by the Mikin. "What happened to your hand?" The scourge's continuing up to the bard's tired expression. "I had a difference of opinion on the matter of meddlesome, nosy bards, my lady," Taran replies with a quiet laugh, and turns his attention to Vhramis. "...It is most good fortune to find you, master Wolfsbane, for I am given a message for you. In, I regret, privacy." He gives Celeste an apologetic look. "If you have a moment free?" Vhramis mouths the word 'privacy', glancing to Celeste briefly, before rising to his feet. He holds his cup of beer and nods to Taran, gesturing off, before focusing down on Celeste. "..er. Sorry. I'll be back, afterwards, once I get the message." "Of course, Master Wolfsbane," assures Celeste. Her gaze turning back to the bandaged hand of the bard. "If either of you should need of me," she waves towards the table. Taran nods. "I as well, my lady, an I have not offended you too greatly," he says to Celeste, but steps outside. "Come to the stables, master Wolfsbane?" ---- ...at the Hawk and Dove Stables... ---- Taran walks with quick, long strides over to the Hawk and Dove's stables, and to Ablaze's stall - or rather, the place next to it where his wagon is stored. "My apologies for the venue," he says as he walks. "Running across your path is often a matter of luck, and this is best out of my hands quickly." Vhramis follows Taran along quietly, his eyes fixed on the bard's back. He ducks inside of the musty stables as well, pausing. "..I've been in worse," he states with a small shrug, watching intently. Taran laughs quietly, moving aside seedlings and pots in his wagon to draw out a wrapped bundle. "This was given to me to return to you. It has been quite the little adventure getting it this far." He absently waves his bandaged hand as he unwraps the bundle, presenting the contents. The ranger's knees go weak as the blue glow fills the stable, the man reaching out a hand to grasp on a support beam as he stares down at the bow. "I..you.." he mumbles, unable to take his eyes away from his lost weapon. Presumably lost. Taran smiles - not mocking, just pleased. "As I said - my apologies for the venue, but you will certainly care for her better than I. I should hope, anyway." "I've not in the past," breathes the man, moving forward hesitantly. He reaches a trembling hand, pausing, and glancing to Taran briefly, before closing his fingers about the bowshaft. He lifts it to hold before him, starting, before drawing it close to his chest to hug at it. Yes. He's hugging his bow. The look this gets is sympathetic, however. "She is yours," he nods. "My own task was only to bring her to you." He flexes his bandaged hand. "I should mention, however, that there are people *quite* interested in taking her for themselves." "They'll not take her from me. Never again. I'll never let her go," the ranger mutters, eyes glistening as he stares down at the softly glowing bow. He rubs a finger at his eyes, before looking back to Taran. Straightening, he clears his throat. "Who gave this to you? And who is after it?" Eyes trace down to his wounded hand, and he frowns a bit. "They are after you as well, yes?" Taran shakes his head. "Not mine to tell," he says. "Since I think if you are meant to know, you will. As to me - only because I had this." He tilts his head. "How did you come to lose it?" "Then they'll stop coming after you?" Vhramis asks pointedly, lifting his weapon to rest it over his shoulders. His eyes slide closed and he draws a deep breath at the familiar feeling, and the corners of his mouth twitch. The ranger smiles. "Probably," Taran replies with a little smile. "The people who knew I had received her appear to be dead now. Though I imagine they'll pick up the trail eventually. They struck me as being quite persistent." His eyes open then, Vhramis staring at Taran. "Then I'll accompany you, until the threat is gone. Or until they no longer have interest in you. It's the least I can do for..this." He pats at the warbow over his shoulder. Taran shakes his head. "It may already be," he says. "I've been left alone most of the day. You will likely not be able to hide such a thing for very long - but either way, it won't take much to establish that I have it no longer. I am, when unburdened, quite a good runner." He studies Vhramis thoughtfully, and then tugs out a backpack. From it he pulls a set of armor. "I'm not entirely without defenses." Vhramis glances down to the armor tugged out, the man fingering at his own mesh of obsidian mail, and nods his head thoughtfully. "I see," he murmurs. "..someone must trust you. And I may have an idea who. It will serve you well. But that doesn't ignore the fact that, should they be after you.." He shrugs at that. "I can't force my protection on you." "You may well," the bard nods, putting it away. "I will be going to see about a staff for myself, and training in its use. But the fact remains - while they *may* yet come after me, they will *definitely* come after *you*, if they pick up the trail at all." He holds up his hand. "Don't punch them," he adds wryly. "I..don't like to punch things," notes Wolfsbane at that slowly, shaking his head, eyeing the bandaged hand. "Noted. At least tell me, then, who 'they' are. It won't be too difficult to find someone lugging around this." Taran shrugs. "Cult of the Dragon, they're called," he says. "They seek draconic artifacts, it seems. They cloak themselves in Shadow - would I were being poetic, but I am not - and arm themselves with it." "I've heard of them. Rumors, mostly," nods Wolfsbane at that, expression solemn. He glances about the stable, sighing. "Very well. I knew things couldn't stay quiet for very long, in the end." Taran looks amused. "Stay quiet?" he asks. "Would they not first have to *be* quiet?" He blows out a breath. "At any rate - my task is finished. Keep her in good health, master Wolfsbane. Myself, I think I shall sleep for a week or two at this rate." Vhramis nods his head at that, regarding Taran thoughtfully. "..there is a certain path off of Lomasa road down near Apple Village. It treks for a long while through the woods, and fades many times, as well as passing through some rather difficult terrain. But, eventually, it leads to a cabin. Should one need to hide, they'd be welcome there by the owner." He blinks at that, before grimacing. "I have a cabin in the woods. You can stay there, if you need a place to hide." Taran blinks. "I have...seen it," he says, surprised. "I was near there only earlier today, actually. Beautiful terrain; I go for rest and inspiration, though I have never been to the cabin." He bows slightly. "My thanks." "Ah. Well. There you go," Vhramis shrugs and nods. He regards Taran for another moment, before taking a step back, and dropping into a deep, respectful bow. "Take care of yourself. Call me, should you ever need my aid." "But not if I need the answer to a question?" asks Taran, amused, but returns the bow. "Thank you, and likewise." "I'm not too good at answering them," shrugs the ranger, lifting a gloved hand in a wave, before turning about to make his way back to the tavern. His stride is noticably lighter. Taran pats Ablaze's muzzle, giving the stout horse a few sugar lumps before heading back into the tavern himself. ---- ''Return to Season 5 (2007) Category:Dialogues